Accidental Confessions
by societallyDysfunctional
Summary: England receives a worrying phone call during America's infamously excessive birthday party and visits his house the next day to make sure America is all right. He ends up finding out more than he reckoned. (summary sucks, sorry about that. little fic I wrote for America's birthday)


England knocked tentatively on the door to America's house. He knew that America had thrown an excessive birthday party for himself the night before, so the interior was probably in shambles. America himself was more than likely hungover and delirious. England had only bothered to come because of a rather garbled phone call he had received the previous night that sounded strangely like sobbing, with raucous laughter in the background. He had _not_ come because he felt bad for the idiot (he didn't), or his guilt for never wishing America a happy birthday in the more than 200 years he'd been his own country (there was no guilty conscience involved whatsoever). He came simply because of his concern for the phone call—nothing else. _Certainly_ not because he harbored any non-platonic feelings for the git, not at all.

He rapped his knuckles on the door again.

"America!" England called. "America are you in there?" No one answered. _He's probably hungover and passed out,_ England thought, shaking his head. He rummaged in his pockets for the spare key America had once given him ("Just in case," he had said). He turned the key in the lock and pushed the door open, still calling America's name.

The house remained silent.

"Are you even here?" England said softly. He shook off his worries and told himself that he was probably sleeping. The tosser did love to sleep in.

England wandered upstairs, glancing left and right to find any evidence of America's presence. Then he heard a door open and a noise that sounded strangely like crying.

"E-England?" he heard a familiar voice choke. England nearly sighed in relief when he was seized in a warm embrace. England tensed, his arms staying at his sides.

"Alf—" he caught himself, reverting back to his country name. "America. Why are you crying?" he asked, voice muffled by America's bomber jacket.

"Y-you came," he hiccuped, squeezing England tighter. "Even if you're a day late, you actually came."

"Of course I did," England reassured him, relaxing slightly in America's arms.

"All this time I thought you hated me, you know. As soon as July rolled around, none of us could even contact you. You shut yourself away. Why are you here now?" America pulled away slightly and looked into England's eyes.

"Your phone call was mildly worrying," England told him, averting his eyes from America's startling blue. He couldn't lie to a face like that. "It sounded like you were sobbing." America swore under his breath, looking away.

"Damn it Prussia," America cursed. "You didn't hear any words did you?"

"No, but—"

"Okay, good. That's good. But you were actually worried? And you came!" he began to ramble. "I know you still hate me and all, but this is a start. I can't believe it!" America grinned widely through the tear streaks on his cheeks. "Even if you don't like me, and you'll never love me the way I love you, this is still the best birthday ever!"

"Wait," England interrupted. "_What_ did you just say?" America froze, realizing what he had just let slip.

"Um. Nothing?" he tried. Then he sighed. "Shit. I didn't mean to say that out loud. Guess the cat's out of the bag, then, huh? Go ahead, leave and don't talk to me again. I won't judge you for it; that's what I'd do if I were you." England was trying to process the information when he realized what America had just said. He was about to go on when England held up a finger for silence.

"I don't hate you, idiot. I never did. I guess one could say I resented you after the—war—but I couldn't hate you if I tried. I was angry at myself for letting you see me in a state of vulnerability. Not you, Alfred. Never you," England confessed. "And, well, I, um, feel the same." He leaned forward and pressed his lips gently to America's, whose eyes had gone wide during England's confession. He snapped out of his daze just as England pulled away.

"Wow. Really?" America asked, dumbstruck. Then he shook himself. "Of course. The hero always gets the girl!"

"I'm not a bloody girl!"

"Close enough," America teased. England shoved him. "Come on, let's go somewhere."

"What?! Where?"

"I don't know, out to lunch or something." America entwined his fingers with England's.

"Fine," England replied, turning red. "But I'm paying. It's your birthday after all. Besides, I didn't mean to cause you all that stress about your supposedly unrequited feelings. I liked you for longer and wouldn't admit it."

"Bet that I actually loved you longer."

"Doubt it, git."

"Oh really?" America inquired.

"I realized it just before World War One," England told him honestly. America laughed, then mumbled something that included the word 'war.' "What did you say, America?"

"Revolution," he answered. "I've loved you since before the Revolutionary War." England stopped walking and gaped.

"You—" he began, then started over. "This whole time I thought you broke away because you _hated_ me. All this time it was hard for me, I can't imagine how hard it was for _you_ to do that to—and _walk away_ from me. And I never comforted you or talked about it or acknowledged your independence day or _anything_. God, Alfred, I'm so sorry. I never realized—"

"Shh," America interrupted, gently wiping the tears off England's cheeks. England hadn't even noticed them. "Arthur, it's fine. It had to be done sooner or later, and we're together now, right? The past is the past. No need to get sentimental, old man."

"I am not that old!" England protested.

"Sure you're not." America ruffled England's messy hair while England slapped his hand away halfheartedly.

"Well, I'm sorry for making you go through that."

England then wrapped his arms around America's neck and kissed him full on the lips, tangling his fingers in America's dirty blond hair. America reciprocated this time, kissing him back fervently and wrapping his arms around England's waist.

"Happy Birthday, Alfred, you absolute idiot." England blushed and looked away while America smiled brightly.

"Aww, love ya too, Artie."

* * *

_A/N: Hello! I really wanted to write a USUK birthday fic for America. I know it sucks really bad and seems forced, their conversation doesn't really seem natural. I am very sorry for the horrible-ness of the idea and mini-plot. I know it sucks. (and the end. the end sucks too) And they were really out of character..*makes face*_

_Well, I hope you weren't too put off by all that and maybe liked it a little? If you did, please review! I do love reading reviews, even guests. Whenever I see a new review for a fanfic, I kinda just *smiles really big* All of my readers are lovely, even if you don't write a comment! Thank you so much for putting up with me, and I hoped you enjoyed it just a bit._

_Oh! Happy 238th Birthday, America! (it was the 4th of July where I am when I published this)_

_~Rebecca_

_P.S. wow I'm bad at titles._


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